


When You're 84

by yourpotato



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, M/M, Malec, it's sad ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 14:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourpotato/pseuds/yourpotato
Summary: Magnus has to watch the people he cares about age and die. That includes Alexander Lightwood.





	When You're 84

Magnus walks up the stairs from the subway, sighing to himself as he sees the grey skies above. His feet come to a stop as he looks around. Rain is falling heavily, splashing onto the shining concrete. A gust of gold wind caresses the warlock’s cheeks, making him pull his black trench coat tighter around his body.

 

As he stands there, a tall man bumps into his shoulder, mumbling under his breath as he disappears into the crowd of umbrellas. The hit makes Magnus’ tired body stumble forwards ever so slightly. He closes his eyes momentarily. His lungs fill up with cold autumn air as he takes a deep breath, before he continues on his way in the relentless downpour.

 

“Mr Bane,” a gentle voice greets him as he enters the building. He spots the young girl he always meets when he comes here. She is dressed in the usual white uniform, her curly hair done up in a short ponytail. Her eyebrows are raised as she looks at him. “Wow, it’s really coming down outside isn’t it?”

 

“It is indeed,” Magnus confirms with a tight-lipped smile. “I forgot my umbrella.”

 

“Let me take your jacket,” she offers, taking a step closer.

 

The warlock silently pulls it off his body, frowning as water drips onto the floor. He registers the nurse telling him not to worry about it, and to just head on inside.

 

He steps carefully through the endless hallways, his shiny shoes hitting the linoleum soundlessly. On the walls hang beautiful paintings and photographs, brightening up the otherwise dull interior. His stomach turns.

 

He finally comes face to face with the door he’s looking for. _Alexander Lightwood_ the sign reads. He knocks gently on the wood before sliding it open.

 

“Alexander?” he calls out, peaking inside.

 

Alec is sat on his small couch, newspaper in hand and a cup of water on the table next to him. His grey hair hangs over his forehead, eyes framed by big glasses. He tilts his head up as Magnus calls his name, frowning at the visitor.

 

“Who are you?”

 

Magnus’ heart aches. “I’m Magnus. Remember me?” he says weakly, desperately attempting to keep his voice from breaking. He steps further into the room, shutting the door behind him.

 

“Are you sure I know you?” Alec asks, studying the man. Wrinkles surround his eyes, a sign of a life well lived. Magnus thinks he still looks as beautiful as ever.

 

Magnus only forces a soft smile in response as he sits down next to him. He makes sure to keep a comfortable distance. “How are you?”

 

“I’m fine,” the shadowhunter states, folding his newspaper and placing it on the table. He readjusts his glasses to get a better look at Magnus. “You look familiar.”

 

“I do?”

 

“You look like my husband.”

 

“Oh, really?” Magnus smiles sadly. “What’s he like?”

 

“He’s quite magical,” Alec tells, smiling softly. His old hands fold together in his lap.

 

Magnus glances at a photograph on the nightstand of the two of them, when Alec was in his twenties. They’re both wearing big smiles, arms wrapped around each other on the couch in the old loft. He remembers Izzy taking that picture, despite Alec’s protests. The boy was scowling until Magnus kissed his cheek lovingly, then a bright smile appeared on his face, and his sister snapped the photo.

 

“What did you say your name was again?”

 

Magnus turns his attention back to his husband. “Magnus.”

 

Alec’s brown eyes blink a few times, seeming to become clearer. “Magnus?” he speaks quietly, shifting his body towards the warlock. “When did you get here?”

 

The elder stifles a sigh – or a sob – he isn’t quite sure. “Just now, darling,” he replies, reaching over to take one of Alec’s hands, gently stroking across his skin.

 

“Why haven’t you come to visit me?”

 

“I was here a few days ago, Alexander.”

 

“I don’t remember that.”

 

“It’s alright,” Magnus assures, carefully lifting their intertwined hands and pressing a loving kiss to his husband’s hand. Alec smiles softly. “How’s your day been? Did you finish your crossword puzzle yet?”

 

“No, I couldn’t find my pen. It must’ve fallen under the couch or something,” he tells, reaching out with a shaky hand to grab his cup of water.

 

With a flick of his wrist, Magnus conjures up a blue pen. “Want to do it together?” he asks, sliding a bit closer on the couch. Alec nods as he swallows down his water, handing the paper over to the warlock.

 

Magnus lets Alec figure out most of the words, while he writes down the answers in neat handwriting. He feels his husband’s warmth next to him, making his heart ache gently. It’s never gotten easier. Every time he goes to visit, he comes home in tears. He quickly shakes it off, grabs a glass of whatever alcohol he has laying around, and throws himself into work. It’s become routine.

 

“Why can’t I come back home with you?” Alec asks as Magnus reluctantly gets up to leave. His voice is quiet, having grown weaker with age. “I don’t like being here alone.”

 

Magnus presses his painted nails into his palm, every fibre of his being telling him to just portal his husband home with him. He wants nothing more than for them to be together again. He longs to take care of Alec, to hold him at night and fall asleep to the soft thumping of his heartbeat. Just like before.

 

“You know you can’t, darling. You’re not well.”

 

“I’m fine,” he protests.

 

The elder sighs weakly, running a hand through his blue streaked hair. “I’ll come visit tomorrow afternoon, okay? I’ll bring you a waffle from the coffee shop on the corner. The one you like.”

 

Alec takes Magnus’ hand, squeezing it tightly. “Okay.”

 

“I love you, Alexander.”

 

“I love you too.”

 

With a lingering kiss to the man's forehead, Magnus leaves the room, gently shutting the door behind him. He sets course back to his apartment, where a bottle of vodka awaits him, along with a tall stack of books to delve into.

 

He leaves his love behind, and ventures out into the pouring rain once more.

**Author's Note:**

> wow i cried writing this. thanks for reading.


End file.
